Free WiFi

I played a little soft jazz for my students this week as they circulated through the class sharing ideas for their next writing pieces. It was what I happened to have on play on my phone, and I figured it was unobjectionable enough.

I never would have predicted how popular it would be! In fact yesterday, at our voluntary, after-school study hall, which we call "homework club", several students requested that I put it on.

"It's so relaxing," said one.

"Yeah," added another, "we should call this the homework cafe!"

And indeed, they sat scattered around tables and in easy chairs, with books and lap tops, working diligently.

Heck! I was tempted to start serving warm drinks!

No Scrubs

My mother always taught me to clean up as I cooked, but working in a professional kitchen rapidly disabused me of that good habit, and so I usually just pile my bowls, pots and pans at the edge of the sink and keep on cooking. At our house, I'm the chief cook and so rarely am I also the bottle-washer. There are times, though, when I am finished with our meal, and I look at that hefty stack by the sink, and just grab me a sponge or a dishrag and get to washing.

Tonight was one such night. As I scrubbed, my thoughts floated up with the soap bubbles and back to my first cooking job. It was in a little cafe with a cold case. We made fresh pasta on the premises and sandwiches to order, but the primary business was filling the case and catering. The backbone of the kitchen staff was Robert-- he made the pasta and supervised the clean up and prep staff which consisted of his sister, Reesa, and his brothers Richard and Seward.

Seward was actually the oldest sibling, but he was, as we described him back then, simple, and so he did all the dishes and mopped the floors. He was a cheerful guy with a huge grin, and his signature replies were, "I sure am!" or "You do, don't ya?" The owners had affectionately dubbed him "Monsieur," and everyone appreciated his sunny personality and more than tolerated his occasional foibles.

Once I was having a conversation with another cook, and as Seward came by, he mistakenly thought we were addressing him. He stopped, confused. "I'm not talking to you, Seward," I shook my head as I corrected him.

"Why?" he asked, crestfallen. "What'd I do!?"

That Bell Can't Be Unrung

Today my students and I were talking about the theme of immortality and whether living forever would really be all it's cracked up to. Our discussion was centered around Tuck Everlasting, but I asked the class to make connections to other books they knew.

Personally, I was thinking vampire, because there has never been a topic that made me wish for immortality less; Anne Rice and Stephanie Meyer have convinced me of just how boring everlasting life would be.

My students were engaged in the conversation too-- they suggested Eragon and certain Greek gods. "Are elves immortal in the Lord of the Rings series or do they just live a long time?" someone asked.

"What about wizards in Harry Potter?" wondered another student.

"No way!" I said. "They kill each other all the time. Even Dumbledore dies," I shrugged.

"What???" the student cried. "Dumbledore dies?!!!!"

Two for One

I stood idly arranging the contents of my grocery cart to fit on the belt as compactly as possible; perishables, cans, boxes, and bags all jigsawed neatly together. The order ahead of mine seemed to be taking a long time, and instead of wishing I was somewhere else, my attention was drawn to the animated conversation of two young women in the next line over. They had serendipitously run into each other here, and so they chattered about the recent holiday, cute nieces and nephews, work, mutual friends. One mentioned a certain yoga studio to the other, and her friend replied that she had been meaning to try it. "Oh you should!" The first woman said. "It's wonderful! I'm literally there all the time!"

At that I chuckled to my inner English teacher and recited a little poetry back to myself:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both 
And be one traveler, long I stood

Evidently the lady in the other line didn't have that quandary. 

Another World

We had dinner with a friend of my mom's tonight. She's been a lobbyist in Washington for over 25 years, and although I don't always agree with her perspective, I really appreciate her sensibility. It's practical and on a level that I rarely have the opportunity to experience.

For example, when you're a teacher looking for a position, you have one maybe two interviews, usually around a cheap table in a make-shift conference room at the school where you're applying. Tonight Shannon told us the story of her nephew, a 23-year-old who refuses to eat much more than his childhood favorites. 

"If he applies for a job," she said, "and he's one of two finalists? I'm sorry, but if I take him to lunch and he orders chicken fingers? No way he's getting the job!"

Wait. What? They take job applicants to lunch?

Stuff It

TURDUCKEN CONSORTIUM AGREEMENT

Between Mom
And Tracey
And Bill (in opposition)
And Courtney (in absentia)

Now, therefore, it is hereby agreed as follows:

1. DEFINITONS

In this agreement the following terms shall have the following definitions:

"Tur" means turkey, a bird, poultry

"Duck"means duck, a water fowl, poultry

"en" means chicken, a bird, poultry

2. COMMENCEMENT AND DURATION

This agreement shall commence on the effective day and shall continue until completion, on or before December 25, 2014.

3. RESPONSIBILITIES OF THE PARTIES

Each Party undertakes to each other Party to perform and fulfill on time the tasks assigned to it by the Steering Group and all other of its obligations under this Agreement.

THUS DONE AND PASSED in the County of Arlington on the 30th day November 2014 in the presence of the Witnesses.

Cliffhanger

Five years ago I could hardly tear myself away from the book I was reading to enjoy our traditional Thanksgiving celebration. I took every opportunity I could to steal a few moments and return to the riveting tale of Katniss Everdeen and her battle to survive the Hunger Games. At the time, the series had not yet caught fire, and no one else I knew quite understood my minor obsession, and how hard it was knowing I had to wait until August to read the conclusion to the saga.

Since then, with the release of the movies such exquisite agony has practically become a November tradition. Last year we had to wait until now to see how the suspenseful conclusion of Catching Fire would be resolved, and now it won't be until November 20, 2015 that we will see how it all ends up.

It just seems so far away.

That Holiday Spirit

Steve and Eydie crooned merrily from the speakers as Kyle opened his Christmas gifts from us and his grandparents tonight. We were lucky enough to have him here for Thanksgiving, but we won't see him again until sometime in the new year, hence the early celebration.

He had sent out a three item wish list in October that screamed 14-year-old boy. Along with a couple of video games, there was a blue and black hooded coat with lots of zippers, brass buttons, and some kind of tails in the back. It was a replica from Assassin's Creed, another video game, and he was clearly pleased when he opened the package from Gary and Louise that contained it. 

We laughed the way adults do at things kids like that they find foolish, but none of our gentle ribbing could make him question his choice. "What is it even made of?" Heidi asked.

"Leather!" Kyle said with pride.

"That is not leather," Heidi told him. "It's more like pleather."

"No," Kyle insisted. "The description said it was made of some kind of leather; I think it was fox leather."

It seemed a shame that any animal should have lost its life for that garment, but it seemed highly unlikely that if any did, it was a fox. I was still trying to wrap my brain around it when Heidi replied. "Fox!? How did they spell it? F-a-u-x?"

"Yeah!" Said Kyle. "How'd you know?"

Thirty Hours a Day

I was talking to Treat about our family tradition of hanging out playing games and eating leftovers on the day after Thanksgiving. We agreed that it suited us much better than shopping. "My gosh," I said, looking at the time. "It's six o'clock right now. We could already be at the stores!"

"Black Friday," Treat shook his head,"it's the longest day of the year."

This Day

Fat wet snowflakes were falling as Annabelle, Richard and I stepped out of the house to give the dogs a potty break. Emily and Heidi were running errands; inside, Mom was cooking dinner; Courtney was baking pies; Bill and Jordan were tracking Riley and Treat's progress on their journey home. Soon we would all be together.

"Let's go for a little walk," I suggested.

"Really?" The kids asked.

"Sure, why not?" I shrugged. "There's a park right around the corner."

They both fairly danced through the snow and up the sidewalk, and the dogs and I trotted happily behind. At the corner, Annabelle turned to face me with pink cheeks. "This is the best day of my life!"

I put my free arm around her and gave her a little hug of agreement. As days go, it was definitely up there.

A Little Goes a Long Way

Some kind soul at our school used the day before Thanksgiving break to have students fill out little cards telling who they were thankful for. I was touched to receive four, but one in particular stood out. It came from a student who struggles in my class. He does not complete homework or classwork, and his writing and quiz grades are low. It's frustrating to work with him sometimes because it's hard to tell if he is unwilling or unable.

The hectic day was over when I checked my box one last time before heading off for vacation. One last little red card was waiting there.

"I'm thankful for Ms. S," that student had written, "because she's so calm and nice."

And just like that? All my aggravation was gone.

Vacation Creep

Arghh!
Two day work week before Thanksgiving?
What's the point?
I'm ready for my break now!

[This comment scheduled to be re-posted with minor revisions in 4 weeks.]

Proof that God Loves Us

For weeks now I've been on the hunt for a rare commodity: Gingerbread Stout. A limited release with terrific reviews, this beer sells out within thirty minutes around here. Twice I've busted out of work to try and snag a bottle or two, and twice I've been the recipient of a less than sympathetic snort when I asked if perhaps there was any left. Oh, I'm not sure I'll even like it, but by golly, I want to try it!

In the meantime, I have spent some extra time in beer stores, and I've found a few other interesting offerings, some of them equally appropriate for the season-- yes, I'm talking to you, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme Saison!

Thanksgiving by the Letter

My sister group-texted us all this morning:

Annabelle is getting excited to see everyone!

And I replied: Me too!

Off the Clock

Courtesy of back-to-back field trip days and the upcoming short week, I was able to actually leave school at my contract time today. My plan was to run a few Thanksgiving errands, and as I pushed open the glass doors and stepped into the crisp 3 PM November sunshine there was a purposeful bounce in my step. "Have a good weekend!" I waved to the small group of students outside.

"Wait! What?" answered one. "Where are you going? Don't you have to work until, like, at least 5?"

Nope!

Get Out

Just yesterday I was talking to two colleagues about the prospects of administering yet one more universal test for yet one more data point. "Fortunately the pendulum seems to be swinging away from this insanity," I said.

"You know how education is," another teacher said. "This has been going on for, what, about ten years? It's going to be something new, soon."

"What do you think that will be?" asked the third of us.

There were shrugs all around, but at some point in the conversation we came up with what we thought was the exact opposite of the now in schools across our country. "Experiential education?" someone suggested. "Where the kids actually get to do things?"

We laughed, but it was definitely rueful. Back when this testing trend started, I never believed I'd be at a school or in a system where field trips were considered, at best, unnecessary, and at worst, detrimental, but that's definitely the climate I'm teaching in now. While every sixth grader is soon to have an iPad, our bus budget has been slashed so that if we want to take more than one trip a year, we will have to charge the students for transportation.

Today happened to be the day of our only field trip this year. We took the students to a local nature center where they participated in a program about energy. The visit involved walking through a community garden that had been winterized, and seeing the rescued raptors (a red-tailed hawk, great horned owl, and two barred owls). As we ate our lunch, chickadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, and titmice flocked to the feeders just outside the window, and two deer grazed at the edge of the woods below us.

All the students showed some interest in what they were seeing and hearing about, but one girl in particular sought me out and sat next to me at lunch. She is a very nice kid, but often distracted and silly in my class. Her grades are mediocre and below, mostly because she doesn't get her work done. When you talk to her about it, she agrees good-naturedly to try to do better, but academic success seems like a low priority.

Today she was animated and engaged. She loved the raptors, was fascinated by the deer and the other birds, and had something relevant to say about every exhibit. As she chattered excitedly at lunch about everything we'd seen so far, I hardly recognized her as the child who usually sits so passively in my room.

Her test scores are low compared to those of her peers, and it's a cliche to point out that they don't tell the whole story. But that part of the story that data leaves untold may be best discovered away from the traditional classroom, and we'll never know what it is if we don't get out there.

In Reply to a Former Student

Dear Ethan,

Sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you-- your letter has been sitting by my laptop for several weeks, but I have been waiting for a time when I had the time to compose (and revise!) a thoughtful reply.

First, I’m really pleased to hear that you are writing in your spare time, and it’s even better news that you feel passionate about it. You were reluctant to write much last year, but when you did, it was always interesting and creative. I’m curious about what made you start writing more in your spare time. What kind of things are you writing? I hope you’ll elaborate more on that in future letters.

You asked me about my thoughts on improvement, and so I decided to apply the question to something we have in common-- school. Our roles here are different, but to me, teaching and learning can never be mutually exclusive. No matter what I may be doing in my classroom, if my students are not learning, can I call my actions "teaching"? Even if I'm trying really, really, really hard to teach, without that learning thing, I'm not quite hitting the target, am I?

There’s an old joke that kind of explains what I mean:

Two guys are walking their dogs down the street and one guy says to the other, “Hey, did I tell you I taught my dog to whistle?”

“That’s amazing!” says his friend. “Let’s hear him do it!”

“I said I taught him,” the first man replied. “I didn’t say he learned.”

So what is teaching then? Where's the metaphor that best describes it? A proverb that is often mentioned is Teaching is not the filling of a bucket, but the lighting of a fire. I kind of like the image of igniting that passion for learning in the hope that it will continue burning after you’re gone. It seems to put all the responsibility on the teacher, though. What’s the student’s role?

After some serious thought, the adage that I currently favor to explain my philosophy of teaching is this one: When the student is ready, the master will appear.

Public school teachers, though, can’t choose our students, and we can’t change them, either, so what do we do if they are not ready? With apologies to Batman, how can we be both the master they need and the master they deserve?

One way is to recognize that a master takes many forms. It may be a book or a poem, another student, a project, or an after-school activity. Even if we are not personally the masters they are ready for, we can help our students to find the masters they need by giving them lots of opportunities to think.

So, what about you, Ethan? Where do you fit in? You asked me how I thought you could improve, and here’s what I think: Start by being aware of all those opportunities; don’t dismiss anything as boring or irrelevant before you’ve given it a chance.

My advice to you is to be ready for the master in as many situations as you can.
                                                                                   
Take Care,

Ms. S.

How 'bout That?

Each Monday my students take a skills quiz to assess the nuts and bolts of their writing, and to, well, practice test-taking in a formative, low stakes kind of a way. (But let's not get into that right now.)

This week they were asked to edit a short piece of writing for misused homonyms. The errors were underlined and students were supposed to substitute the write, er, right word. Most kids did fine, but there were some creative replies. For example, one part of the passage read, "Lets plant beans since they sprout quickly," and the little test-takers were tasked with replacing that lets with the correct contraction.

One student crossed out the lets all together and replaced it with How about we all grow beans...

Tails You Lose

"How was Philadelphia?" a co-worker asked me today while she was picking up her copies from the printer in my room, and before I could open my mouth to gush, she continued, "Because I HATE that city!"

My eyebrows were at attention, and I'm sure my surprise was evident.

"Oh, I know," she waved her hand, "there's gentrification, but I Market Street is sooo depressing! All those boarded up department stores? And, a homeless man actually whipped it out and peed on me... in. front. of. INDEPENDENCE HALL!"

I nodded and tried to say something. "We have friends who live over by Penn," she shrugged, "and, sure, it's nice..." she looked at me skeptically, "but not nice enough!"

"What about Reading Market?" I asked, thinking that no one could possibly complain about all that wonderful food.

"Oh my God, no!" she spat, "I hate the way it smells!" Then she laughed and walked toward the door with her printing. "I just don't like Philly," she finished.

Fall in Philadelphia

It was fun walking around Philadelphia today.  We went by several places I remember from my childhood-- the department stores we visited at Christmastime for their holiday windows, my dad's office building, and Independence Hall. As a city Philly is very agreeable: historic, compact, and flat, and it's narrow streets and old buildings gave it a welcoming warmth even in the November chill. 

City of Brotherly Love

And in the perfect ending to my stroll down memory lane, I find myself in Philadelphia for the weekend. I haven't visited this city for almost 40 years, but when I was a kid, we lived just across the Delaware River. Philly was a top field trip destination for all my school years from first to eighth grade, when we moved away.

When we put this trip on the calendar last spring, Heidi wanted to go to the highly rated vegan restaurant, Vedge, and I had one desire, to walk through the giant heart at The Franklin Institute. Today we did both, and neither one of us was disappointed.

Tomorrow? Reading Market, Independence Hall, Blackbird Pizza, Cesar Millan, and maybe even Jack's Bar are on the itinerary.

It's good to be back!

FBF

As I mentioned earlier in the week, my students are writing letters to their future selves. One of the choices they have to make is how far in the future they want to write. Almost all are within 10 years, and most don't go beyond high school. That makes sense to me-- they can't really imagine themselves much older than that.

One student is a bit of an outlier in more areas than this, and he chose to write to himself 40 years from now. "I hope you have a mansion," he said, "and that you still like video games, and I really, really, really hope you're not married."

His honesty was as poignant as it was amusing, but as he revised I suggested that he add more details about the person he is now. "Forty years is a long time," I said, "you probably won't remember much at all." As I spoke, I looked at the date on the blackboard and thought back 40 years myself.

The air practically shimmered like a flashback sequence on an old TV show as I recollected the details of those long-ago days. I was in 7th grade then. I can still name several of my teachers and describe my bedroom. I know who my friends were, which pets we had, and what our gym uniforms looked like. This last detail is seared into my mind, because it was that year that I broke my arm in PE just a day after winter break. Our uniforms were one piece, zip-up garments that were sewn to look like striped shirts over solid shorts. When I fell and broke my arm, the nurse splinted it making it impossible to remove my uniform. I was forced to pull on plaid pants over it, and my mother took me to the emergency room in that embarrassing outfit.

I shared the story of my fractured ulna with the class, and they were a very appreciative audience. "Wow!" said one little girl. "How do you remember all that? I can't even remember what happened last week!"

Winter Come Early

The temperature drops sharply, and at the grocery store we move from the apple and pear part of the year to the clementines and bananas. Thankfully the rack is full of firewood and the closet full of down.

Have a Feels-like-Monday Wednesday

"Have a feels-like-Tuesday Thursday!" said the kids on the daily announcements this morning. Of course they were confused, but it's hard to blame them after two consecutive weeks of school on Monday, off on Tuesday, only to return for three days before the weekend. I forgive them because I know exactly what they meant, AND... they'll be right tomorrow.

Archive

In our little complex of less than 400 souls, three couples have had babies in the last week. Oh my! I thought after the third, what was going on last February?

Also this week, my students have been writing letters to themselves in the future. It is the culminating activity in a unit where they have written a lot to explore who they are now, and part of the assignment is to use that material and remind their future selves of who they are now. In general, they are very engaged in this task, and as they work, I overhear them chattering excitedly about what it will be like to open and read these letters. More than one student has asked me if I did this assignment when I was a kid. "No," I shake my head, "but I really wish I had!" They nod very sympathetically.

It would be pretty cool to have such a letter, but as consolation, I do have this blog. Certainly, it is a record of who I was for at least a few moments of every day over the past 5+ years. I don't read back over it that often, but when I do, it's... satisfying.

And informative; for example I read tonight that back in February? We were snowed in for several days around here. Mm hmm.

Remember Them

If you've seen Remember the Titans, perhaps you can imagine what it would be like to watch the last half-hour of the movie with the real Petey Jones and Julius Campbell sitting right behind you. 

I take that back-- you probably can't. It was thirty minutes of pure goosebumps and then another hour of laughter and a few tears when those two members of the famous 1971 team came to speak to students at our school in an event sponsored by the Tolerance Club. They answered every question the kids asked with honesty, grace, and yes, wisdom, about their time on the team, the loss of their friends, and the progress that they have seen our country make in race relations in the last 43 years. 

On the last point, both men expressed their delight at the diversity of the 33 students gathered in the library. "We've come a long way, and we have a way to go," Mr. Campbell told them, "but I'm not worried," he continued, "you all will change the world."

Not SAD at All

I heard earlier this week that there is a counterpart to seasonal affect disorder. Some people grow restless when the days lengthen and warm; they prefer the the slanting sun and long nights of winter. I recognized myself in this description and felt a little validated. I have always felt a little out of a place in our sun-worshipping culture.

I didn't realize how I have missed the crows until this evening their raucous cries filtered in through the windows. I stepped outside and looked up at the dark silhouettes shifting and darting through the deep purple gloam. Brisk air filled my lungs; it was not yet 5:00, but the sun had set. I was exhilarated.

24 Little Hours

Yesterday was Heidi's birthday and I think she had a good one. She was showered with birthday love at home, and via mail, text, Facebook, and FaceTime.

One of her more goofy qualities is a total lack of time awareness. Oh, it can be a bit contentious when we're constantly running late, but it can be endearing, too. "How old am I?" she asked me in the morning.

"46," I told her.

She shook her head in surprise. "I could have sworn I was 45."

"You were," I assured her, "yesterday!"

Miller, Mann, and Edmunds

We saw Christopher Nolan's latest movie today, Interstellar. At 168 minutes, the concepts of gravity and time took on an authentic meaning, especially if you ask my butt. I really wanted to love it, too, but I came away with a jumble of feelings, among them being a bit dismissive of the paradox at the heart of the movie. Still, when I got home and clicked on a few reviews, I read that they filmed on location in the harsh landscape of Iceland. It was then that I realized that where they actually were never crossed my mind as I was watching; to me it was another planet. I guess I was pretty engaged, after all.

Like a Month Without an R

Sometimes I wonder if Josh even recognizes the people he lives with. Up until now, for his whole life, the only time he has ever spent with us has been during the summer and on weekends when we were off from school and focused on one of our favorite house guests. Where are those care-free people who fill their days with swimming, hiking, movie marathons, board games, road trips, and camp?

Those are always some fun times, and they must stand in stark contrast to these 7 AM to 6 PM days where dinner and a single hour of TV precede bedtime. Certainly, a bit of crankiness here and there is unavoidable. Fortunately, our good-natured boy seems to roll with it, especially since he is busy with other things, too.

And on those days when we all take a break, to go to the mountains, or to celebrate Heidi's birthday, we pick up the fun right where we left it.

An Observation

I don't think they really got me.

Tuition Check

We were talking with a younger colleague last evening before leaving school. This particular teacher was also a student at our school, back in the day, and although I did not teach her, I was a teacher there. "What year were you in sixth grade?" I asked her to remind me, and when she did, a litany of names rushed out. She smiled at each, remembering her friends and classmates.

Today it came up in conversation that another colleague was born in 1984, so she was in sixth grade the third year I taught it. It was funny comparing her with those kids then, and wondering what sort of adults they had become.

And so it goes, more and more frequently lately. My dental hygienist? She was in sixth grade fourteen years ago. The checker at the grocery? Maybe five. All those kids I've taught are making their way in the world... they are becoming the world.

Thank goodness their teachers did a good job.

A Secret Life

Dinner was finishing all on its own, and I was relaxing by the early November fire when an insistent buzzing drew my attention away from the Urban Farmer magazine on my lap. (I know, I know, I read it for the articles.) I considered ignoring the sound; a single housefly would not last 24 hours before perishing, but the drone became more frantic as the creature flew back and forth from the kitchen to the lamp over my shoulder.

Something there was about this buzz that made me think it could be no ordinary pest, and when I turned to examine it as bumped against the light shade, I saw that I was right. It was a honeybee. Perhaps she had hitched a ride on the last of the zinnias I had cut from the garden earlier, or maybe she was hidden in the tangled twists of the rosemary log we brought home for the fireplace. Whatever the case, the cold dark night beyond the window panes held no attraction for this tiny soul; all she wanted was the light and warmth of the bulb behind me, even though it held no real satisfaction for her.

Into the kitchen I went to fetch a plastic cup. The rounded form of the lampshade proved to be quite a challenge as I tried to capture the errant bee: there was no flat surface to trap her against. Soon she began to tire of eluding me, and she slowed but never quit. "Come here Sweetie," I whispered. After a couple of near misses, at last she paused long enough that a quick flick on the other side of the shade dropped her into my cup.

It was the copy of Urban Farmer itself that I used as a lid to keep her safely inside until I could open the front door. It was cold, yes, and she hesitated a moment and then flew back toward the door before finally heading off into the night.

I knew she could find her way back to the warmth of her sisters.

Playing Favorites

Thank you, November, for giving me back the hour that March stole last spring. I always liked you better.

Documented

It's been a day of non-fiction around here. I'm hooked on the podcast by the producers of This American Life called Serial, the story of the murder of a high school student in Baltimore in 1999. Interesting people and a twisty narrative compellingly reported make the series addictive audio.

This afternoon we went to see Citizen Four, the Edward Snowden story, and while the movie didn't add much new information to the well-reported story, it did provide an opportunity to ponder the far reach of data gathering that our government is doing in the name of security, and the difference, as Snowden puts it,  between a country of rulers and the ruled and one of the elected and the electorate.

And now tonight our attention turns to Ken Burn's latest, The Roosevelts. Born of privilege, the three principals in this series were all champions of every day, working class Americans. They recognized a common humanity in us all.

"We love a great many things—" Theodore Roosevelt said, "birds and trees and books, and all things beautiful, and horses and rifles and children and hard work and the joy of life. We have great fireplaces, and in them the logs roar and crackle during the long winter evenings. The big piazza is for the hot, still afternoons of summer."

Trick or Treat

For many years our school did not allow students to come in costume on Halloween. Once you reach middle school, gone are the days of class parties and all-school parades; dressing up is no more than a distraction. If I thought about it 22 years ago, I may have found it a little sad, but traditions change as their participants grow older and that is not necessarily a bad thing.

These days, we have a new principal, and so our traditions have changed indeed. Notably, costumes are not only allowed, but they are encouraged (no full face masks or props in the shape of illicit items, please!) It's not so bad, really. Although Halloween is undeniably wilder than a normal day, it's kind of interesting to see how they dress. For although for most kids that age the attention of their peers is really the objective, their costume choices can be revealing. If you think about it, it's way better than a BuzzFeed quiz.

What Star Wars Character are you? Oh wait-- I know that black cape!

Would you be a happy clown or a scary clown? Duh!

You forget to wear your Halloween costume to school, so you

A) write the name of your favorite Frozen character on a piece of paper and tape it to your t-shirt
B) take a hat from your locker and borrow patterned gloves from your friend-- hey, it's better than nothing
C) shrug it off and say you're saving the good stuff for tonight

Then there was that cute boy in the red and white "Norway" sweat shirt. It had a few stains on it, and when I asked what he was, he sneezed several times before he could answer.

"Wait! Don't tell me!" I said as he sneezed again. "You are a...

Achoo

"Norwegian..."

Achoo

"Serial sneezer!"

He laughed and headed for the tissue box.

Want Versus Need

I was in my room a-workin away today after school when first one, then another, and then another student came by to borrow a calculator, sign out a lap top, and record their word study words. Homework Club was being held across the hall, but I happened to have what these kids needed to get the job done, and I certainly didn't mind sharing.

A little while later a student in search of a quiet place to finish a test took a seat at one of my tables, and a seventh grader from my homeroom last year stopped by for a visit. In between all the action, I was able to get quite a bit of grading done.

At 3:30 the colleague who was supervising homework club brought the supplies back over and stowed them on the shelf where they belong. "It's so nice that the kids feel comfortable just coming over to your room," she said.

"Why wouldn't they?" I shrugged.

"Well, they don't all have you for a teacher," she answered. "They could be intimidated."

I nodded. I'd never really considered that.

"But when I told them not to bother you, they all said you wouldn't care."

They were right. When you're a public school teacher there are many annoying things competing for your time and attention, but when the kids need something to do their work?

It's never an inconvenience.

As Opposed To

My students spent the first ten minutes of class today collaborating to make corrections on the weekly word part quiz. "No! Micro means small and macro means big," I heard as I circulated through the class.

I smiled with satisfaction. This was exactly the conversation I wanted to hear.

"So it should be micro orgasm not macro orgasm!"

I paused and pondered the message and considered my role in clarifying it.

"I mean organism," the student corrected himself.

Ah. That does make a difference.

Reasonable Doubt

I was out of school today for a couple of doctor appointments, and the sub I had sends email updates at the end of the day. I kind of like her initiative; on the plans I leave I always request a note detailing the day's events, and this way I get it right away.

I know from personal experience, both as a student AND a sub, that it's a hard job. I try to leave thorough plans with concrete, doable activities to make things go smoothly, but I know that doesn't always work. I try to find subs who work in our school regularly so they know the kids and the kids know them, but again, that is not always an option or even successful. I have lectured, scolded, and referred students upon my return, but as far as I can tell, that doesn't really improve things, either.

Kids and subs... it's a conundrum.

So some years ago I decided to let it go, or at least extend the benefit of the doubt to all parties. What happens with the sub stays with sub, or something like that. Never mind the hours I put in on my sub plans: let the sub take the credit when they love the lesson. And no matter how ridiculous the claim, "The sub said we didn't have to..." I'll shrug it off and let them know they have to now. Certainly, I express disappointment when informed of poor behavior, but in the grand scheme of things, it's 47 minutes.

Today, though, my sub informed me that my students shattered not one, but two Rubik's cubes that I keep in my classroom. "The pieces are in a tray on your desk," she wrote. "I'm so terribly sorry."

That doesn't sound accidental to me. I wonder what they'll tell me tomorrow.

20/20 Vision

October is Disability Awareness Month and so in response the Tolerance Club has planned a few consciousness-raising events. Last week we showed a video called I Have Tourettes but Tourettes Doesn't Have Me, a compelling portrayal of the lives of kids with this syndrome told in their own words.

This week we organized stations to help students experience what it might be visually impaired. The brailling machine was very popular and so were the goggles that simulate visual impairment, and our school system's mobility specialist was there, too, along with two students whose eyesight is weakened by albinism. Putting on a blindfold and using a white cane to navigate the familiar territory of our school's hallways was far and away the most engaging activity. 

Afterwards, the kids talked about the challenges they'd experienced, but it was all brought home by one of their classmate who reminded them that they could always take the blindfolds and goggles off. "Imagine what it's like for us," she said, "because we can't imagine what it's like to be you."

Fringe Benefits

Big article in the NYTimes Magazine today asks the question, "What if Age is Nothing but a Mindset?" It seems like a sensible question, and the author puts forth quite a bit of evidence in support of the assertion that one's mental attitude can play a big role in aging.

In one study, researchers had their subjects, “make a psychological attempt to be the person they were 22 years ago,” and they provided them with props to help, including vintage clothing and furnishings, news reports, and movies. They even removed the mirrors to prevent distracting from the illusion, and at the end of the experiment, the participants tested higher on both the mental and physical assessments they had taken at the beginning.

I like these results! Consider that I have spent the last 20+ years teaching sixth grade and you will understand why. The world marches on, yes, but in room 275, almost everyone is always eleven or twelve, and there are no mirrors.

It's like a little fountain of youth, isn't it?

Misplaced Faith

While out and about on this beautiful fall weekend I saw the following message on a license plate frame: God favors me.

Really?

No fair.

A or P

It was 7:10 this morning when my eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. Uh, yeah, it was... school started in half an hour and no one in our house was up. It was a first in my teaching career-- I have never overslept once in the last 21+ years, but I was determined to make it on time. Heidi and I sped through our morning routines, skipping some steps, obviously, and I was out the door, with iced coffee and lunch, by 7:30, thereby avoiding another first: actually being late for school.

Special thanks goes to Heidi who graciously took one for the team and called a colleague to cover her homeroom so that she might be a little later than I was. I know how lucky I am; when I told the story to one of my friends at work, she said, "I'd have torn my husband up if he done that to me!" Hmm. Sobering. Thanks again, Heidi!

All day I wondered how this could have happened. We had forgotten our phone alarms, but I knew I turned the clock-radio alarm back on last night. This evening at 5:20 the mystery was solved when NPR came a-blaring down the stairs, just 12 hours too late.

Sky Island

Josh was a little ways ahead of us and almost to the summit of Hawksbill Mountain when he stopped suddenly. "It smells like Maine up here," he called. He should know. We've been telling him to roll down his windows and smell the Maine since he was six. There's a place on the Turnpike just south of Portland where the balsams are so fragrant that it doesn't matter if you're going 70; you can always catch that quintessential scent.

I looked up to where Josh was standing and noticed a gnarly balsam just to his left. I pointed. "That explains it," I said, but that was really only half true. There just aren't too many of those trees here in Virginia. We climbed the rest of the way to the top and enjoyed the 360 degree view of Old Rag, the Appalachian Trail, and the fall color blanketing the hills and hollows below. On the way back down, I lingered more than a moment beneath that balsam before continuing on to the hardwoods below.

It turns out that we had hiked to a "sky island", a place where the altitude allows a totally different ecosystem. The boreal forest we passed through was actually a vestige of the ice age, a time when the climate there was much more similar to, say, Maine, today.  Too bad they didn't have any lobster on that island, too!

Scaredy Pooch

Perhaps it was the nail gun that the door repair guy used on Monday to refasten the trim. Maybe it was six cans of lemonade that exploded all over the dining room yesterday. Whatever the cause, our dog practically jumped out of her skin when I accidentally stepped on some bubble wrap this evening. She's had a rough week!

The Knows

Overheard in sixth grade:

Why do you smell like popcorn?

I don't! I smell like Doritoes.

Daily Dangers

Dallas County Judge Clay Jenkins went on record today about the 43 people removed from the Ebola watch list down there in Texas. Asking the public to treat them with dignity and respect after the ordeal they've been through, he spoke pointedly about the five children who will soon return to their schools after being quarantined.

“Middle schoolers are some of the most ferocious and scariest animals on the planet,” he said.

Really? That in comparison to Ebola?

I think I'm due some hazard pay.

Like the Corners of my Mind

On a walk to Roosevelt Island today, Heidi affectionately reminded Josh of all the funny foibles the two of them shared when he was just a wee tot. He forgot that the lyrics of  Poison Ivy, Late at night when you're sleepin, poison ivy comes a creepin, used to make him scream, but he remembered the Mimi Monster (Heidi's hand) and how it used to tickle him.

I have my own memories of little boys at Roosevelt Island; in fact I can't visit the place without thinking of my nephew Treat. When he was three I took him and his older brother down to Gravelly Point by the airport to watch the planes land, but the noise was so loud that it really freaked him out, and he burst into inconsolable tears. I scooped him up and, in attempt to salvage our outing, sped up the Parkway to Roosevelt Island for a little nature hike. 

All was going well until the first plane made its approach down the river and over our heads. Even though it was much higher up and not nearly as loud, Treat covered his ears and dropped to the ground screaming, only to be distracted by a half-eaten, sand-covered cherry cough drop which he promptly popped into his mouth.

When I told my sister about it she said, "At least he didn't lick the Metro window!" But that's another story.

Rise and Shine

When I was 9 I got a clock radio for Christmas. My mother was wisely nudging me in the direction of independence: she wanted me to start getting myself up for school. I'm sure that initiative was met with mixed results; I have never been a morning person, but I did love listening to that radio. I remember lying on my bed grooving to the tunes of 1972. And what a year it was to have a radio of one's own. Even now when I hear Heart of Gold, or Doctor My Eyes, or The Lion Sleeps Tonight, I feel a certain sense of ownership-- those were the songs I listened to on my radio.

Assumptions

This morning my reading class was examining a short memoir to identify its theme. The plot involved a half dozen chicks that a family purchased so that they would have fresh eggs, but when their chisckens matured, it turned out that they were all roosters. "What do you think the lesson of this story might be?" I asked.

"Get as much information as you can before you make a decision," someone offered.

"Don't count your eggs before they're laid?" another quipped.

I put their suggestions on the board and we tried to find a common idea. "How about never assume?" I said, and wrote it down. "Because you know what they say," I winked.

I knew they didn't know. I've taught this unit ten times, and not many sixth graders are familiar with the turn of phrase I was about  to introduce to them.

One student did raise his hand though. "Is it Never assume or you'll..." he paused. I thought he might have it. He continued, "maybe be wrong?"

I laughed. "You might," I said. "But there is a saying: Never assume or you'll make an," here I circled the first three letters of the word. "Out of you," I circled the fourth letter, and "me!" I circled the last two letters.

My students sat in stunned silence. Then minor chaos erupted as they got the old joke. "Oh man!" one boy hooted, "I love this class!"

Yep. That's all it takes to engage sixth graders. And you can bet they'll remember that lesson.